


Momentum

by maebyrutherford (maeberutherford)



Series: The Right Hand [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Meet-Cute, Minor Character Death, Old Friends, Past Relationship(s), Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4631403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maeberutherford/pseuds/maebyrutherford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen has an unexpected encounter in his home village of Honnleath while tracking an extremist cult with his ex, The Inquisitor.</p><p>Part 3 of The Right Hand Series, in which Cullen is Cassandra's Right Hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Momentum

Despite their combined efforts, they had made little headway in hunting down the extremist cult.

After following a tip that took them to an underground bunker in the forest behind Honnleath, all they found was a diseased mage, apparently abandoned when the group moved on. The place was stripped clean of any evidence, and the only piece of information they could glean from their prisoner before he succumbed to his illness was the name of the group, the Disciples of Anders. He had sputtered the words with such pride, Cullen couldn’t help but openly scoff at the man; in his mind, Anders was a coward and certainly not a man worth canonizing after his death.

Aside from that development, working alongside Tara had proven uneventful since their conversation at the inn. They were cordial, pleasant, focused on the mission. Despite everything, he still appreciated her work ethic and skill as a leader and fighter. He wouldn’t have exactly said it had been _easy_ ; an expression here, a brush of the hair there, or a particularly tight set of leathers would send his mind to a confusing place, but at least there were no more conversations fraught with tension.

When word had been sent to Val Royeaux by raven that the trail had gone cold, Cassandra had called for him to return while the Left Hand continued to investigate the increasing number of threats coming from the organization. At least now they had a name.

He and his small entourage weren’t due to depart until the morning, and as much as he loved his nieces and nephews, a week with Mia’s unruly children at their old family home was beginning to wear on him. He’d decided to spend his free time in town, maybe visit his old haunts. As an added bonus, he knew he wouldn’t be running into the Inquisitor, since she had already departed for Skyhold early that morning.

Cullen tied up his horse near the town center. Ever vigilant, he wore his light armor set; no helm or greaves, his sword at his side. Honnleath, like so many villages, had been abandoned during the blight and resettled with faces he didn’t recognize. He waved to some of the villagers as he passed, not having any particular destination in mind. He was considering visiting the chantry again when his attention was drawn elsewhere.

The clearing in the center of town seemed so naked without the golem that once stood there for so many years, back when they all assumed it was just a statue. Other children liked to play on it when he was a youth, but he had steered clear; it just felt  _wrong_ , even though it never occurred to him that it once walked and talked, and might come alive again someday.

He noticed a small plaque on a stone pillar where it once stood, and walked over to read it. It told the tale of how the Hero of Ferelden saved Wilhelm’s granddaughter from a demon and awoke the golem, now known as Shale, and conscripted her to serve the Grey Wardens. The scribe praised Wilhelm’s genius, crediting him for helping to end the fifth blight.

“What rubbish,” Cullen muttered to himself.

“The biggest pile of rubbish,” a voice next to him said.

He turned to find a woman smiling at him. She had a mass of chestnut ringlets spilling over her shoulders, sparkling green eyes, and a face that sparked a sense of familiarity – perhaps a local he’d passed several times in the street.

“Well? Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“Do I – do we know each other?” He would certainly remember hair like that.

“Ah – sometimes I forget that I didn’t used to have all this,” she gestured to her great mane. “Here, how’s this?” She pulled it away from her face. “Better?”

Cullen scratched his neck. “I apologize, my memory sometimes fails me. But there is something about you.”

“Okay, let me try one more thing, then I’ll tell you who I am.” She covered one eye with her hand.

“Arr, hand me all yer booty, or it’s the plank for ye, land lubber!” she snarled.

Suddenly Cullen wasn’t seeing a striking, curly-haired woman in front of him, but a child of 12 with plaited hair wearing an eyepatch made from the scraps of an apron, swinging a wooden sword wildly around her.

“Sylvie?” The name felt ancient on his tongue, from another lifetime.

She clapped her hands together. “You remembered!” She opened her arms. “May I hug you?”

Cullen laughed. “Of course!”

He embraced his old friend, and she made a little cooing noise before pulling back.

“Oh Cullen, It’s so good to see you. The last time I saw you, you were just a boy headed off to join the templars, and now look at you!” She was beaming.

“I’m pleased to see you, too. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you – do you still live here?”

“No, I am visiting my father. I only just arrived today. I didn’t know you were here, and when I saw you – I debated even saying anything, since it’s been so long and you’re such an important man now, but I couldn’t resist.”

“Please, I’m glad you did. It’s nice to connect with old friends, a rare thing to have these days.” He gestured toward the inn. “If you’re not busy, would you like to catch up with a pint?”

“You read my mind. After the morning I’ve had, I could certainly use it.”

****

“I can’t believe,” Cullen was saying, “you live in Val Royeaux and you’ve never contacted me.”

She took a swig of ale. “Well, I figured the Right Hand is a busy man, I didn’t want to bother you. Besides, the old bat keeps me on lockdown. I could barely get away this time. I practically had to beg.”

He tapped his fingers against the side of stein. “I’m sorry about your father. It’s a noble thing, what you’re doing. Taking care of him.”

She nodded. “Thank you. It’s hard, I won’t lie. Working my fingers to the bone doing demeaning work to pay for his nurse, but the man raised me on his own, it’s the least I can do for him.”

“There is nothing demeaning about being a cook. That takes great skill, even if you are working for someone you hate. Maybe especially so. At least it takes a lot of self-control to not poison the food.”

She giggled. “I never thought about it like that. The thought has crossed my mind more times than I’d care to admit. She makes it  _feel_  demeaning, the way she treats all of us. And she’s always holding extravagant parties where nobody eats any of the food. But,” she sighed, “the pay is good.”

She grew serious. “Every time I see my father, he’s so much worse. This morning, it was very hard. Seeing you, well, it’s helping to keep me from falling apart.”

Cullen shifted in his chair. He never did feel especially skilled at offering consolation.  He reached toward her and placed his hand on the table. “Is there anything I can do to help? The Chantry has vast resources. Perhaps a referral?”

She patted his forearm. “That’s very kind of you, but truth be told, it’s only a matter of time. We’re just keeping him comfortable. The healers – they’re very good – they’ve done all they can.”

They sat quietly for a moment, sipping their drinks.

“I heard about your parents,” she said. “I’m so sorry. They were good people.”

“Thank you. The blight took so many from all of us. I’m thankful my siblings survived.”

“That is fortunate. So! Let’s change the subject, shall we? Something a bit more cheery?” She motioned to the innkeep for another round.

He held up his mug. “Cheers to cheery.”

She clunked her mug against his. “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor, Rutherford.”

They talked about the various towns in Orlais she’d worked in over the years, about the Inquisition, and being the Right Hand. She didn’t mention Kinloch Hold or Kirkwall, but it seemed she was well informed of his life, and probably knew better than to ask. She’d never been married, too busy moving from place to place, no children. Sylvie was lively and quick-witted, and he found himself talking and grinning an awful lot more than he was used to.

Despite spending time in her company, he couldn’t reconcile the lanky, obnoxious child he knew with the woman who sat before him. She was close to his age, the fine lines around her eyes and mouth proof of a life of hard work, but there was a beauty in those marks, a deep strength that came to life every time she laughed. Her animated eyes seemed to change color depending on how the light hit them, switching between bright green and sage. Her mouth was always upturned in some kind of smile or grin, her profile revealed a tiny bump on the bridge of her nose, and those wild curls that framed her face seemed to have a character all their own. She was almost as tall as he was, and her simple, modest frock couldn’t hide her supple curves. He found himself admiring her form when she had gone to use the privy. Not that he’d _meant_ to stare, of course.

Cullen was about to ask if she’d heard from another childhood friend of theirs when he noticed Sylvie looking across the room.

“Is that who I think it is?”

Cullen followed her gaze – it was Tara, sidling up to the bar with her companions.

“What is she doing here?” he said, more aggressively than he intended.

“You don’t look like you’re too happy to see her. Did you part on bad terms? When you left to serve the Divine?”

He chugged his ale and set it down on the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Something like that.”

Sylvie held up her hands. “I won’t pry. I do know that if I were her, I would have been devastated to lose you as a Commander. Everyone knows you’re the best there is. But, it’s none of my business.”

Cullen glanced over at the bar just as Tara turned around and spotted him. She smiled and waved, her demeanor noticeably changing when she noticed the woman sitting next to him.

In the aftermath of their break-up, when he had been in the bargaining phase of his grief, Cullen tried to remember any clues that he’d missed, any indication that their love wouldn’t survive. In doing so, he’d realized some truths that he had either been too blind to see or willfully ignored. One of those truths was that Tara Trevelyan was a jealous woman.

He suspected that his pleasant afternoon was about to turn sour.

“Oh,” Sylvie said, “She’s coming over here!” She made an attempt to smooth down her curls.

“Hello there, stranger,” Tara crooned to Cullen as she approached. She was still dusty and flushed from riding, her long hair piled in a loose bun on top of her head.

“Inquisitor,” he said with great effort, not bothering to rise. “I thought you were to leave Honnleath this morning.”

“I did, but one of our horses broke its leg not far from here. We had no choice but to put it out of its misery and circle back. One of the locals is procuring a replacement.” She tutted, clutching her chest and looking at Sylvie with puppy-dog eyes. “The poor creature, my heart is breaking!”

Cullen snorted, and they both darted looks at him. Tara greatly disliked horses; she only saw them as beasts of burden, a means of transportation. She was smart enough to know that hers was an unpopular opinion.

“Well,” Tara said, ignoring his reaction, “aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely friend here?” She rested a hand on his shoulder, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He resisted the urge to recoil.

“Yes, my apologies. Sylvie, this is Inquisitor Tara Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste. Inquisitor, Sylvie…” he blinked. “Forgive me, it seems I’ve forgotten your surname.”

Sylvie rose from her chair. “It’s alright, it’s been many years, and I’m not as famous as you.” She bowed to Tara. “Sylvie Forester, it’s such an honor to meet you, Your Worship.”

Tara approached her. “Please, such pomp and circumstance isn’t necessary. Call me Tara. A pleasure.”

Cullen didn’t care for the way Tara seemed to be appraising Sylvie. “My, your hair is…quite something. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything like it.” She reached out and fingered a strand of it. “Much softer than it appears.”

“Oh, um, thank you.” Sylvie fidgeted.

“Do you often just let it go wild like that? Have you ever thought about pressing it? You’d be surprised at what they can do in the salon these days. A good stylist could do  _wonders_  with it.”

“Well, I, ah-”

“Are you quite finished?” Cullen stood from his chair. “There is nothing wrong with her hair, leave her be!”

“Cullen, you misunderstand me!” Tara said. “I never meant to imply such a thing, and frankly, I’m hurt that you would think otherwise. This is simply girl talk. Isn’t that right?” The smile she gave Sylvie didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Now, since this subject seems to have upset the Right Hand, let’s change it. How do you two know each other?”

“We grew up together, here in Honnleath. I happened to be visiting and –”

“That is  _such_  an adorable story. How cute that you should meet up again!”

One of Tara’s companions beckoned to her from across the room.

“Seems your horse is ready. I suppose you’ll be moving along now.” Cullen insisted.

Tara smirked at Sylvie. “Do you see how eager he is to get rid of me? Such a grumpy gus, this one. I hope he wasn’t like this as a child.”

She clapped her hands together. “Yes, it’s time for me to depart. Cullen, always a pleasure working with you, please give Cassandra my best. It was lovely to meet you, Sylvan.”

“The honor was mine, Your Worship. And it’s Sylvie.”

Tara didn’t seem to hear her. As she walked past Cullen, she leaned in and whispered, “I remember a time when you couldn’t get enough of me.”

She patted him on the chest and walked out of the inn.

“Well, that was…interesting.” Sylvie muttered before downing the rest of her beer.

“Sylvie, I must apologize. She had no right to treat you that way. I’m the one she’s upset with.”

“It’s okay, Cullen. I’m not exactly a stranger to these sorts of things; it’s clear what’s going on.”

He gave her a sheepish look.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright? It must have been nasty business.”

“I’m fine. It’s all ancient history.”

“If you say so.” Sylvie looked toward the door. “She’s stunningly beautiful. Her portrait doesn’t do her justice.”

“Beauty can be overrated,” Cullen sneered. “But enough of that nonsense. I fear I’ve taken up enough of your time. I should return to the homestead, Mia is preparing a huge dinner and I should pitch in. She’s invited others from the village, some sort of unnecessarily grand send off.”

An idea came to him. “Allow me to make it up to you. Would you like to join us? I’m sure there will be plenty of food, and I could use the company. To be honest, I’m not looking forward to all the pointless small talk. We can reminisce about the old days.”

She gave him a small, sad smile, and he immediately felt foolish for even asking. Of _course_ she wouldn’t want to spend more time with him, not after that display.

“That’s sweet of you. I would like to, but I’m afraid I can’t commit. If he’s lucid, I’d like to spend some time with him.”

Cullen was having trouble hiding his immense disappointment. “Yes, of course. Well, the invitation still stands.” He managed a weak grin.

They settled their tab and walked until their paths diverged.

“Well, this is the way to my father’s.” She placed her hands on his shoulder and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Her lips were soft, warm, and some of her hair tickled his cheek. Tara was right; it _was_ very soft.

“Take care of yourself, Rutherford.”

He took her hand and kissed it; it was slightly rough, a working woman’s hand, but he was reluctant to let it go. “And you as well. And please, do keep in touch. You know where to find me. Giant cathedral in the middle of town, can’t miss it.”

She laughed. “I think I’ve heard of it. Farewell.”

As he watched her disappear around the corner, waving to him one last time, he realized she had never told him the name of the noblewoman she worked for. He considered going after her, but he decided if this chance meeting was to mean something, anything, she would show up at his childhood home that evening.

She never did.

**Author's Note:**

> I am completely sucked into this story now. I can't wait for you all to read what I have in store.


End file.
